Eternal Spirits
by Angeltree16
Summary: The lions themselves are not alive. When they were first created, worthy spirits of the dead were chosen to give life to the lions and become eternal guardians of the universe. Alfor's having a hard time deciding which spirits these should be. The thought of being a new father is not helping his stress.
1. Chapter 1

"Why are they lions?"

Alfor turned to his wife, surprised, before chuckling softly. Before them sat five hulking structures designed not only to protect Altea, but all free worlds. The newly constructed behemoths would be legendary. Altea had never seen their like. No king before had possessed the daring and imagination for such a project. A project which had been a decathebe in the making! And her reaction was—

"I just don't understand why they're lions," she said, smiling impishly. Alfor snorted, and looked so shocked at the odd sound, she felt herself beaming radiantly at her ridiculous husband. Alfor cleared his throat, sobering. The royal guards were watching after all.

"Well you see My Love, lions have been symbols of leadership and strength for over twelve eonethbe. They will inspire hope and command respect all throughout—"

He cut himself off. She had dropped her chin and was giving him _that_ look.

"What?" His voice had squeaked and he was crossing his arms defensively. Alfor really wished he sounded less like a child right now, but he was proud of his lions!

The Queen's expression softened. "You just thought they'd look cool, didn't you."

His cheeks flushed. "No 'Miri, it's symbolic."

There was the knowing look again. Quiznak, his cheeks were bright red. How did she know him so well?

"Lions are cool," he mumbled. 'Miri grinned and pressed a soft kiss to his crimson cheek.

Turning back to the metallic creatures she frowned, her brows furrowing.

"They do not seem as though they could protect much as they are, Alfor."

The king nodded, white hair falling into his eyes, which he tried fervently to blow away. She brushed it behind a pointed ear with a gentle hand. Both pairs of youthful eyes crinkled as they smiled. Alfor took the hand that still rested near his ear, and kissed it, before letting it fall and facing the lions once more.

"Four of the lions do not yet possess quintessence. Choosing worthy spirits has been…challenging."

His wife nodded. "I feel life from the Green Lion. Who's spirit have you chosen?"

"Cnathus'."

'Miri whirled on him. "Cnathus?! The hippy!"

Alfor's eyes widened and he stuttered as he defended his choice.

"C-Cnathus was one of my father's most trusted advisors. He was a genius of strategy and innovation. He was a good friend of my family. His loyalty and genius will never waver in defense of the universe."

Alfor stuck his chin up proudly. He'd stopped stuttering and he was very proud of that fact.

'Miri looked at him like he was insane. "Cnathus was a cracked old nutter!"

"He made healing pods sixty-two percent more efficient!" Quiznak. He sounded like a pouting child again. "He was working on the lions themselves before he died!"

"He stopped working on the lions for over a year in order to focus his attention of the Save the Weblum foundation!"

Alfor shrank in on himself a little. "Nature's important too," he murmured.

'Miri crossed her arms. "Uh-huh. Is that why the Green Lion is rolling in the juniberry flowers?"

Alfor swiveled his head to see that the lion was indeed crushing the delicate purple flowers with all his massive weight."

"Quiznak," Alfor cursed before dashing forward, chasing the rouge lion.

'Miri laughed, running after him. She paused for breath at the edge of the the field of flowers, a hand at her stomach. She laughed breathily, watching her husband trying to reason with the large cat while avoiding his flailing paws. She tilted her head down, addressing her abdomen.

"Maybe we'll tell him about you later. When Papa's not so busy, eh?"


	2. Chapter 2

Alfor took a deep breath, pressing his face against the cool metal of the door. He felt his hand drift toward the hidden activation panel to his left, inputing the code without glancing at the keys. He had done this many times. The door slid open with a hiss and a puff of cool air, reminding Alfor, painfully, of a healing pod. He massaged his shoulder absent-mindedly. The wound had been completely repaired long ago. The one time he'd ever used a healing pod. He'd resented them from that day on.

For what they could not repair.

Alfor shook his head, dashing the painful memories away and walked briskly toward a large machine in the center of the room. Large wires were spun together, dull copper and trullcite sparking in the dim room. The only light emanated from a tall glass cylinder, bright blue tendrils spiraling weakly from within.

Alfor sat cross-legged on the floor and put a hand to the glass.

"Hello, father."

—

 _Alfor grinned brightly at his reflection, turning to pose in his new armor. He struck quite a dashing figure, he thought, complete with cape and heeled boots. Prince Charming, indeed. This was sure to impress 'Miri._

 _If not, surely his exploits in battle would win her heart. Alfor flexed his bicep and pulled his most menacing face._

 _"_ _Ah-hem."_

 _Alfor started at the sudden noise, making a most dignified yelp. The heel of his boot caught on his cape causing him to stumble and land flat on his face. Spitting out a wad of dirt, he glanced up to meet the stern eyes of King Alfric. Alfor gulped._

 _"_ _Hello, father."_

 _Alfric's eyes softened and he chuckled good naturedly, extending a hand to help his son up from the dirt. Alfor smiled sheepishly as his father brushed dirt from his armor._

 _"_ _This, my boy, is why I often refrain from wearing capes."_

 _Alfor's cheeks reddened softly._

 _Alfric knit his eyebrows and his eyes pained as he avoided his son's gaze, staring rather intently at Alfor's collar as he straightened it._

 _"War is not a game, Alfor. It is harsh, and it is bitter. And you are still so young. Perhaps—"_

 _"_ _I am sixteen, father! And I am well trained. Besides…you need soldiers."_

 _Alfric squeezed his eyes shut. The war had taken its toll on the people of Altea. A large faction of Galra had allied themselves with the druids of old, forcing the inhabitants of twelve peaceful planets into their ranks. The Alteans and their allies were vastly outnumbered. Alfor was right. They needed as many soldiers as they could muster._

 _"_ _I know son. Just…be careful."_

 _"_ _You too, father."_

 _Alfric nodded. The king knew his life was insured in the battle to come. He would be protected by his most loyal commander, Zarkon._

 _—_

 _Alfor heard a soft hum as the Galra blade sung past his ear, narrowly avoiding taking off the tip. The Galra soldier had left her right flank undefended. Alfor surged forward with a roar, sinking his own blade in the alien's side._

 _She let out a hissing wail, dropping the blade and swiping at Alfor with serrated claws. Alfor dodged her flailing assault as she gasped for breath. She was growing weaker, dark indigo blood seeping from the wound and staining the clawed fingers she pressed desperately to her side. Spitting Galra curses, she launched herself forward, surprising Alfor, and causing him to stumble backwards. He felt his feet catch on something, and he fell._

Stupid cape.

 _The Galra woman slowed her approach, kicking his blade out of reach. She grinned and blood dribbled down her chin. She may be dying, but she would savor his death._

 _Alfor paled and his breath quickened._

 _"_ _I'm sorry, father."_

 _The sounds of battle died away as death herself came forth to claim him. A deep death rattle sounded in her throat. It grew louder as she moved forward._

 _Closer._

 _Closer._

 _She bent down before him, her face inches from his own. He could feel her hot, moist breath upon his face, pungent with the iron tang of blood. She leaned in towards his ear._

 _"_ _Vrepit Sa."_

 _She drew back, raising her arm to deliver the fatal blow._

 _Alfor squeezed his eyes shut with a whimper._

 _An arrow sprouted in the soldier's neck. She choked for a moment, yellow eyes widening, before she fell forward onto Alfor, nearly crushing him. The dead Galra's claws dug into his ribs painfully. He gasped, pushing up on the dead weight of the body, trying to alleviate pressure so he could breathe. His arms wobbled and his hands grew slick with cooling blood. After a few moments, his grip slipped and the body fell atop him once more. Alfor wheezed painfully. He could not draw breath to cry for help. Tears began to burn in his eyes._

 _He gasped as the pressure was lifted and the body was pulled away with a sharp tug._

 _A small Altean soldier held the body by the wrist, dragging it away from the prince as he coughed. Looking up through watery eyes, he saw the soldier remove his mask. His jaw dropped._

 _"'_ _Miri?"_

 _The young Altean woman turned to him, blue eyes hardened like glass._

 _"_ _What the quiznak were you doing, Alfie?! That quiznaking Duflax of a Galra could have killed you!"_

 _The bow in her hand, nearly splintering under her grip, curved downward in the same shape as her scowl. Her normally soft, white hair was tangled in her quiver, Galran blood matting it together. A long cut ran along her forehead, deep red blood smearing in her hairline._

 _She looked beautiful._

 _"_ _I…I-I….Wh-what?"_

 _'_ _Miri rolled her eyes and pulled him to his feet. Alfor stared at her. Her eyes narrowed._

 _"_ _What?"_

 _"_ _N-nothing."_

 _She pursed her lips. "I think we should stick together. Did you hit your head?"_

 _Alfor mumbled inherently. Smooth, he thought. Real smooth._

 _"_ _Miri's lips quirked for just a second, before an enslaved Balmeran launched himself at them._

 _They fought back to back, each trusting the other to protect them. They worked in synch, one changing tactics and the other moving to accommodate. For a time they seemed to be a single force._

 _Alfor was fighting off a druid, keeping his blows with his staff away from 'Miri. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Galra soldier hurl a lance in their direction. 'Miri was too preoccupied with an Olkari warrior to notice. It's current trajectory would hit her. Alfor shouted a warning, changing his stance to shield her from the projectile._

 _The lance embedded itself in his shoulder. Alfor's world was reduced to white-hot pain. He distantly heard screaming. He thought it might have been him._

 _His knees impacted hard against the stone ground. His vision began to flicker and blur, but he thought he saw 'Miri tackle the druid he had been fighting. He smiled slightly. That was his 'Miri._

 _He closed his eyes._

 _The last thing he knew was 'Miri screaming his name before the darkness consumed him._

 _—_

 _"_ _My Lord!"_

 _Alfric turned to see Zarkon scrambling up the hill, out of breath._

 _"_ _Zarkon?"_

 _"_ _It's your son, my Lord! Alfor. He was down on the plain fighting and he—he."_

 _Alfric pushed past Zarkon, panic rising in his voice._

 _"_ _Take me to him."_

 _"_ _Yes, my Lord."_

 _Zarkon led the King down a steep, narrow passage flanked on one side by a wall of rock. The other fell away into open air, down onto the plains. In his haste, Alfric did not see the shadows move. Zarkon turned a corner onto a large ledge. A dead end._

 _The Galra crept from the rocks, hissing and snapping, their shadows dancing and prowling like feral beasts. Alfor drew his sword._

 _"_ _Zarkon!_

 _His commander kept his back to him._

 _"_ _Zarkon, help me!"_

 _The Galra man turned, sword in hand, and crept forward._

 _Alfric stepped back, unconsciously. He felt his heels hit the edge._

 _Zarkon stood so close now, he could see the hate in his eyes as he whispered._

 _"_ _Long live the King."_

 _Alfric's eyes widened as the sword was driven into his gut. The last he saw was Zarkon's manic grin as his body was dropped, unceremoniously, over the cliff face._

 _—_

 _Cold. He felt the cold first. His body was mostly numb, but he could feel his breath frosting around his face. Then he felt the pain._

 _His shoulder throbbed uncomfortably, but he had a distant memory of it being much worse. Even now, the throbbing became a weak pulse. More miserable was the hunger. The gnawing, aching, hollow sort of hunger he could only remember feeling once before. He'd been very ill. He hadn't been able to stomach anything for an entire spicolian movement._

 _A sharp hissing filled his ears and he was aware of a bright light behind his eyelids. He vaguely wondered if he was dead. Oh quiznak, his head. He felt his knees give out. Small, strong arms caught him._

 _"_ _Alfor?"_

 _"_ _Gnnngghh." He opened blurry eyes. "You an angel?"_

 _"_ _YOU QUIZNAKING BASTARD!"_

 _Yep, that was his angel._

 _"_ _You scared the wazblay out of me, Alfor! Never, ever sacrifice yourself to save me again! You stupid, selfish—"_

 _Alfor's lips locked softly onto hers, cool against warm. After a moment of shock, she returned the kiss, eventually breaking away to sob lightly and punch him in the stomach._

 _"_ _That's for worrying me."_

 _He wheezed. "Understood."_

 _A door off to their right opened. Commander Zarkon entered._

 _Bowing to the pair he said, "My lady, if I may have a word with the prince?"_

 _'_ _Miri nodded slowly, a frown creasing her face, before exiting. She threw a glance over her shoulder at Alfor. He smiled encouragingly as the door closed._

 _Alfor turned to the Commander. He sat on a low bench before the healing pod, staring at the chamber thoughtfully._

 _"_ _It's amazing isn't it? The healing pod. A cure for all ailments…save death." Zarkon glanced up to Alfor. "Your father is dead."_

 _Alfor reeled as Zarkon sniffed, rubbing tears from his pale yellow eyes. "We were ambushed. I-I tried to save him but there were too many. The insurgents overpowered us. He told me to flee, but I refused. Together, we defeated their forces, but Alfric—Alfric was dealt a mortal blow."_

 _Alfor's knees shook and he sank to the ground. His breath came in short pants._

 _"_ _There there, son. Tears will not bring him back." A clawed hand patted his back. Alfor curled away from him. Zarkon withdrew with a huff. "You know, as he lay dying, your father's only wish was that you were there. I think he wanted to say goodbye. In my opinion, if you had been there you might even have saved him."_

 _Alfor began to sob in earnest._

 _"_ _Now now, boy. Your father may be gone but I will be here for you in this trying time. You can always trust me._

 _—_

They had found his body at the bottom of a cliff, so broken and bloodied it was hardly recognizable. Only a small amount of Alfric's quintessence remained. His soul was intact and preserved, but it was not strong enough to take any corporeal form. The only sign of sentience was the rise and fall of energy levels when asked a question. Most 'conversations' Alfric had were with his son, as only a select few knew of his preservation.

With his hand against the glass, Alfor felt the glass grow warm around his fingers in greeting.

"I have come to a decision father. I hope you will accept."

The glass grew cool. Curiosity and worry.

"Father you were a great leader. You had a great mind for tactical strategy. Your people loved and respected you."

He paused.

"Father, I would like you to be the spirit of the Black Lion."

The glass heated. Surprise.

"I know. Your soul is not the most…stable. But father, our old enemies have returned. We are at war with the Galra factions. We—we need Voltron. Father, we need you."

Soft warmth. Acceptance.

"And Commander Zarkon shall be your paladin. You already had a bond in life, which should make a bond easier now."

The glass heated blisteringly hot. Alfor wasn't sure what that meant. Greater acceptance?

Alfor grinned. "Thank you, father. And good luck."

Alfor turned, oblivious to the wildly fluctuating energy signatures.

Outside, 'Miri waited for him with a sad smile, a hand resting on her rounding stomach.

Alfor smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

It was three vargas past the meridian when Coran heard a soft knock at his door. He huffed, burrowing himself into his blankets and plopping a pillow over his ears. The knocking became more insistent, and Coran let out a little whine before swinging his legs over the edge of his bed with a tired, "quiznak."

He shuffled to the door, tripping over mismatched slippers and stifling a yawn in the silky sleeve of his old robe. By the gods, he was going to give Mrs. Erthie a piece of his mind. This was the third time this movement she had woken him at this hour. As the door slid open, Coran pressed his face against the frame, eyes unfocused and downcast.

"For the last time Mrs. Erthie, I did not steal or eat your chuuper."

Coran raised his weary head, but rather than the irritable old woman, he saw—

"Alfor?"

The young king stood before him, wide eyed and hand poised to knock again.

"I-I um…"

Coran arched an eyebrow at his flustered king, taking note of the dark bags under his eyes and split lip.

Alfor's shoulders slumped and he looked up at Coran desperately, weakly gesturing past the door. "Can I…?

Coran nodded mutely and stepped aside to admit his careworn friend. Alfor hobbled in and fell onto Coran's blue-grey couch with a sigh. Sitting lightly beside him, Coran gave him a questioning look. Alfor covered his eyes with a hand and gestured defeatedly with the other.

"She says I called her fat."

"I'll get the nunvil."

Coran scurried towards the kitchen as Alfor continued, his voice cracking.

"I didn't call her fat."

Coran poured the thick purple drink into two large glasses. "What did you say?"

"I suggested we move the meeting with the Olkari natives indoors on account of the weather. 'Miri thought it a wise decision, but complained that the fluorescent lanterns would make her look fat. I said they would not make her look more fat, and that's when she hit me with a book."

Coran handed him a glass with a pitying look as the king gingerly tended to his still bleeding lip.

"She kicked me out," Alfor said, downing half of his glass. "I might've stayed somewhere else in the castle if I wasn't so worried she'd find me! She was on a hormonal rampage of murder and…book-throwing."

Coran placed a reassuring hand on his old friend's shoulder. Alfor met his eyes, looking positively miserable.

"How did you do it, Coran? I still have another three rotations of this! How did you survive?!"

Coran's eyes turned wistful. "I spent many a sleepless night curled up in the bathtub, nursing a bruise or two. Arima had quite the left hook."

Alfor glanced at his friend. Coran wore a watery smile, blinking away old tears as he sipped his drink. It had been nearly fifteen years since they'd lost Arima to the Sagarkian plague leaving Coran a single father with a broken heart. It was an old wound, but every now and then it was torn afresh.

Alfor nudged him gently with his elbow and pinned him under a concerned gaze. Coran quirked his lips and nodded sharply. With a shaky sigh, Coran moved to refill their glasses. Alfor bit his lip, trying to muster the words. Any words.

"How is Calanaea?"

Coran visibly brightened at the mention of his daughter and Alfor congratulated himself a little.

"She's doing quite well. She writes every week. She misses her godfather…and me on occasion."

Alfor snorted. "Please Coran, she adores you."

"Oh? I wasn't the one who bought her a pack of yellmores for her eleventh birthday!"

Alfor grinned sheepishly, "I thought she'd like them."

Coran rolled his eyes theatrically. "Oh she did! She loved the giant things that nearly ate the house! She sulked for days when I gave them away. I think she almost ran away to live with you!"

Alfor smirked. "She always did like me."

Coran's eyes crinkled as he smiled, mischievously. "Like? I think she was utterly in love with you."

Alfor choked on his drink, spluttering out a gurgly, "what?"

Coran threw his head back against the sofa with a laugh. "Don't you remember? When she was fourteen, she flirted with you incessantly."

Alfor's eyes widened. "That was flirting?"

"Wasn't it obvious?"

"She often said how much she loved my shoes. I just thought she wanted them!"

"You thought she wanted shoes that were at least three dulraks too large?"

Alfor shrugged helplessly.

"Yes, well, you needn't worry about that anymore." Coran's voice had adopted a sharp edge as he frowned darkly.

"Oh?" Alfor fiddled with his drink.

"No. I'm rather convinced she's in love with our _neighbor_."

Alfor gasped. "Kieta?!"

Coran nodded miserably, sinking into the couch and downing a large gulp of nunvil.

"But—but I thought they hated each other! They fought mercilessly as children!"

Coran huffed. "Opposites attract. At least that's what Calanaea said. They couldn't be more different Alfor! Tall and short. Altean and Galra. My Callie is sweet and kind. That Kieta just broods…and she wears toeless socks!"

Alfor sighed, pitying his poor advisor. He dreaded the day his own daughter would be old enough to date. He shuddered at the thought. Perhaps his little one would just remain single. Not forever, just until Alfor died so he would never know of it.

Alfor was jarred from his musings as Coran buried his face in his hands.

"Perhaps there is some good to come of Calanaea joining the Legion after all."

"Mourna tells me Kieta was thinking of joining, herself."

"Quiznak."

They sat in silence, Coran's brow pinched in thought. At length, he cleared his throat.

"We best get some rest. You have to face your wife in the morning."

Coran stood, taking up the glasses, his back to the king.

"Coran?"

The advisor turned back to face the king with a small smile. It was strained. Alfor had seen the fear in his friend's eyes when Coran had spoken of the Legion.

"She'll be safe. I promise, she'll be safe."

Coran nodded, a hint of relief evident in his eyes.

"Goodnight, Alfor."

—

 _On the twelfth quintent of this rotation, regiment 816, headed by Commander Olran, arrived at the moon base of Allmang to aid in its recovery._

 _At approximately 2200 vargas, the encampment was lost to a druidic bomb. Of the sixty-two members of the infantry, forty-seven survived. Among the deceased were Lieutenants Garrett and Smythe._

 _Lieutenant Hunarin Garrett was last seen running towards the blaze to aid the living and retrieve the fallen. Witnesses state that Commander Olran ordered him towards safety. In response, the lieutenant stated, "I won't leave her to burn!" He reentered the blaze at 2208 Vargas in what is believed to be an attempt to recover Lieutenant Smythe. He did not return._

 _Lieutenant Calanaea Smythe was the first to detect the presence of the bomb. Before detonation, she was able to sound a warning and push Commander Olran away from the blast, using her own body as a shield. She was lost in the flames. Without her warning, the lives of all sixty-two soldiers may have been lost._

 _The remains of the lieutenants have been retrieved and shall be awarded the highest honors. We deeply regret—_

Alfor crushed the letter in his hands, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed tight in agony. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as he gasped for breath. Beside him, he felt 'Miri shaking with silent tears, arms wrapped protectively around her middle.

"Go to him."

Alfor turned to face his queen at her broken words.

"We've lost our goddaughter, but he's just lost his baby girl, his whole world. He needs you."

Alfor stood wordlessly, and shakily made his way down the familiar path to his friend's home. It felt as though he was walking towards execution. He knocked on the worn door. Receiving no answer, he tried the control panel, only to find it locked. Alarmed, he pulled at the metal door until he broke the weak magnetic lock. The door slid into the wall.

Alfor stepped carefully into the familiar room. Shards of broken plates and glasses littered the floor. A small chair was overturned, a leg broken off, its end splintered. Alfor cast his gaze about the room until it settled on a familiar mop of orange hair on the couch. He stepped forward, only to hear a sharp CRUNCH.

He looked down, and lifting his foot, saw the remains of a picture frame. The glass was cracked, the frame in pieces, and the picture beneath, torn. It showed a much younger Coran, his arms wrapped around a beautiful dark-skinned woman. In her arms, she held a smiling baby, chubby hands reaching towards her father, trying to pull at the wispy mustache he had tried to grow.

"They buried her today."

Alfor head snapped up at his friend's voice.

"It was sunny. It should've rained. She always loved the rain."

Alfor sat warily beside him. Coran looked haggard. HIs hair was knotted and untrimmed, his cheeks sunken and sallow, the bags carved under his eyes speaking of a sleepless, grieving night. He stared vacantly into an untouched glass of nunvil, a fist loosely clenched around a letter beginning, _"We regret to inform you…"_

Alfor tried reaching out gently. "Coran, I—"

Coran crushed the letter. "I thought she would be safe. You promised me. You promised to protect her!"

Alfor flinched back, as though the words had burned him.

"And now she's dead, you bastard!" Coran swung blindly at the air. Alfor grabbed his fist and drew the smaller man into a fierce hug. Sobs wracked Coran's frame as he clung to Alfor, still punching him lightly."

Alfor hugged Coran to his chest, mumbling apologies as tears dripped into dull orange locks.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"D-damn you, Alfor."

"Coran…please."

"Why, Alfor? Why was it her? Why did it have to be her?"

"I don't know…I don't know."

Coran shuddered and wailed and Alfor held him close. They stayed that way for a long time.

—

Coran's whole body trembled. His face was ashen. His mouth was bone dry. Alfor placed a steadying hand on his back. Coran smiled tightly and nodded. They passed through the door. Inside was a brightly lit room, a round platform glowing blue and gold at its center. Alfor stooped, inputing a code. Bright points of light coalesced into a figure, the transparent form of a young woman. She gasped, opening bright blue eyes.

"Ahhgghh!" She cried out, stumbling slightly on the platform, her features frozen in fear and pain. Her gaze darted about wildly before settling on Coran. Her shoulders slumped, relaxed, and she smiled brightly.

"Papa."

Coran stepped forward, smiling even as tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Hello, Sweetheart."

"I-oh. Oh, Ancients no! The bomb! My friends, they-they…"

"Honey, it's alright. They're alright."

Calanaea let out a shaky breath, relieved. "Hunarin's okay?"

Coran felt his throat tighten. He swallowed, hard.

"Yeah Callie, he's fine." Alfor stepped from around Calanaea's ghost with a smile.

"Good, good," she sighed breathily. "Everything happened so fast, I lost him in the crowd and I-oh Ancients! I'm—I'm dead!"

Alfor held his hands out, placatingly. "Callie, it's—"

"Oh Ancients, no! Oh Papa, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Coran took half a step backwards, his face stricken. "What?"

"I'm so sorry Papa. I just…I wasn't quick enough. I should've…"

"Oh Honey, no, no. You didn't…" Coran wanted nothing more than to hold his daughter close and tell her everything was alright. But her quintessence was so weak, she was barely held together. And nothing was alright.

So he just stood there. He had no words left to say.

Transparent tears traced down his daughter's face. His own fell by his feet.

The door slid open behind them, a choked sob cut off by a whimper tearing through the silence. Coran turned to see Kieta, a hand covering her mouth.

"'Nea?" The word felt bitter and broken in her mouth.

"Ki. Oh baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Shh, it's okay my _ina'nta._ You did nothing wrong. You saved so many people. I'm s-so proud of you."

Calanaea gave her a watery smile.

"I lo—"

Callie's image wavered and gave out as the platform glitched. Kieta's knees gave out with her. Coran tentatively wrapped his arms around the shaking Galra. After a few moments, Alfor joined them. Kieta sank into their arms, letting her reserved mask slip away, tears spilling from her yellow eyes.

After half a Varga, 'Miri joined them. She said nothing. She just knelt as best as her swollen belly would allow and held her husband, her friend, and Zarkon's niece, a girl she'd known since her birth. And they grieved in silence.

—

A week later, Alfor broached the subject of the lions with Calanaea's spirit. When she agreed to be the spirit for Blue, Coran was furious. He wanted his daughter to have peace. But Callie was convinced. She believed her death to be her fault. Leaving her father was her fault. Leaving Kieta was her fault. This way she could protect them…always.

Coran visited her often. The lion would purr at his presence and he would place his forehead against her warm muzzle. Sometimes it felt as though he hadn't lost her at all. But then he would hear the heartbroken wails of Kieta, and he knew what he'd lost.

And he vowed that Alfor, his king, his friend, his brother, would never know that pain. He had failed his baby, but he would protect Alfor's.

Always.

 _AN: Calanaea: (yes, her name is made from the letters of LANCE)_

 _She loved the rain. She spent hours dodging the razor-sharp, boiling rocks. She made a game of it. (It always caused Coran great stress.)_

 _Her birthday was always celebrated in the castle with her family. Her whole family. Alfor and 'Miri always made the time for her, no matter the responsibilities of court._

 _She loved animals, (especially the big ones.)_

 _Her mother died of Sagarkian plague when she was five. She got sick, too. Coran was terrified he would lose them both._

 _She met Kieta when she was eight years old. They didn't get along._

 _When she was fifteen she went through a rebellious phase. She dyed her naturally turquoise hair a light brown. (Coran: She couldn't at least have picked a color that looked natural?!) When she joined the Legion, her roots were back to being turquoise. She didn't feel like dyeing it again, so she called it ombre._

 _She met Hunarin when she was sixteen. He became her best friend._

 _She started dating Kieta when she was eighteen._

 _She joined the Legion with Hunarin at nineteen. She was so thrilled to be accepted. She hadn't thought herself strong enough to join. Kieta planned to join the next year._

 _She died a week before her twentieth birthday._

 _Arima and Calanaea always thought Coran should try to grow a mustache. He grew one after Arima's death. He kept it for eleven years. He grew one after Calanaea's death. He never shaved it off._


End file.
